Breath of Life
by Aussiegirl41
Summary: A short fic set immediately after 6.1. Contains spoilers of a sort, therefore. Mr Carson is shocked to hear Mrs Hughes's confession.


**I wrote this post-kiss fic in my head as I did laps in the pool today. LOL! I always think I write Chelsie far too romantically, but considering what we got in 6.1, I now think that's totally in character!**

"What do you think about the second Saturday in April?"

At Elsie's whispered words he drew back, regrettably as he was quite comfortable with her leaning against his chest, her arms wrapped around him, just as his arms were wrapped around her, tightly and reassuringly. He needed to see her face though, to confirm he hadn't imagined it, and she had just suggested a date for their wedding.

"We could perhaps take a few days off, attend an Easter bonnet parade somewhere…" Her eyes darted to the pantry's closed door. Celebrations continued on its other side. "Of course I know we're already short staffed…"

He gently touched her cheek. He would like to say the touch was to again offer her some sort of encouragement, but he knew it was simply because he felt he could take such liberties without censure. Her skin, despite her complaints about age and perceived unattractiveness, was smooth and soft beneath the worn pads of his fingers. "I shall tell Lord and Lady Grantham first thing in the morning."

She smiled then. One of her beautiful smiles that he yearned for so many a time. He was relieved to know he would spend the rest of his days eliciting that smile on a regular basis.

"Will it be time enough though?" he asked, suddenly thinking of all the other people they must tell, all the arrangements that would need to be made. Refreshments and flowers and invitations and… He moved to his desk and flicked over the calendar, calculating the limited timeframe. "What if the church isn't available-"

"Mr Carson," she interrupted, "you don't think we've dilly-dallied around long enough?"

He forgot his fretting and relaxed, his retort to her words fading as he looked back over his shoulder to take in her expression. They were back on good terms enough for her to be gently teasing.

He took a small step towards her. "I wanted to ask you. Your sister? Is she capable of the journey? Would you like her to be here?"

"That's a lovely thought, Mr Carson." Her bottom lip bore the brunt of her uncertainty. He remained silent until finally she replied: "I should think though it might be too much."

"Lytham St Annes is quite a way," he agreed in the kindest tone he knew.

She stared at her boots. "Would you…"

"Would I what?" he prompted at her hesitation.

"Once we retire and have a little more time on our hands. We could visit… Although it probably wouldn't be much of a tour for you. Visiting your wife's off-kilter sister."

"I'm torn."

"Torn?"

How was he going to explain his muddled thoughts? "I'm distressed… About your sister."

She fidgeted. Her hand alternately pleated and smoothed the skirt of her dress.

"Of course. I only told you to make you understand my financial position, Mr Carson. I won't ask you to acknowledge…"

He took yet another step closer to her. "You misunderstand me now, Mrs Hughes. I'm torn about the isolation of our lives. I'm distressed that you should see so little of your sibling, that in service we see so little of family." He paused to check she was still following his train of thought. When it seemed from her expression as though she was, he went on: "But I want this isolation, because without it…" His voice cracked a little from the emotions of the day and the last few weeks in general. She'd stepped closer too, which wasn't helping matters. Her scent, that comforting mixture of lavender and some other floral scent he could never quite put his finger on, filled his senses. He felt completely inebriated without any help from the wine.

He cleared his throat, determined to finish his explanations despite the distraction of Elsie Hughes and her tempting bouquet. "Without this necessity to create our own family within the house, I might have never won your hand. Our close proximity was such an advantage. You know my ways, my moods, my temper."

"I thought I did. Until…Well, I think the last few weeks… "

"Shall we put it all down to wedding jitters? But promise me, no more silliness. I love you dearly, Mrs Hughes."

He waited. Would she say she loved him this time? He knew she did. Mrs Hughes would never be so false as to accept his proposal without love. He'd repeated that sentiment for weeks, all throughout his confusion as to her refusal to set a date.

"I have a confession too, Mr Carson," she said softly. So softly in fact, he slightly leant forwards to assure himself of hearing each word from her pretty mouth. "Only… I know you won't approve."

He froze. Not approve?

"I like the silliness. I like that our life can be consumed by thoughts of our marriage and our lives together and that our life of service can be forgotten, be put to one side occasionally."

He frowned. How could she like this feeling? This toing and froing on the edge of a cliff; his heart soaring one moment and then breaking into a million pieces the next; his senses attuned completely to her every word, her every move; no routine to follow; no rules; no premonition of just how their happy ending would play out.

"I can't-"

His answer was cut short due to a loud crash outside the pantry door. Mrs Patmore's less-than-tranquil tone seeped in through the pantry's wall, louder than the muffled sound of music.

With a growl he moved to reef open the door, ready to give the staff still remaining a stern dressing down. He stared down the hallway, poised for battle. Two chairs were toppled, but the dancers were too engrossed to bother straightening them.

He turned back to Elsie, waiting so patiently, as was her custom. Always the only girl he wanted to ask to dance.

"Mrs Hughes..." He stretched his hand out towards her invitingly.

She giggled and this time his heart beat rapidly as she immediately fell into his arms and allowed him to begin to lead her in an impromptu waltz around his pantry.

"I thought you'd never ask," she murmured.

Her body slipped perfectly against his. Her small hands disappeared beneath his huge paws as he clung onto her. His every nerve ending sung along with the tune playing on the gramophone.

"I like it too," he admitted huskily, to her and himself, performing a perfect turn in time with the music. "We're living, Mrs Hughes, that's what it is."

She hummed noncommittally. He only pulled her tighter into his embrace, dared to brush his lips across the top of her head again.

"No, Mr Carson. We're loving, Mr Carson, that's what it is."

He grunted but said nothing else.

They stayed that way for a very long time, swaying contentedly in each other's arms until the music ceased and their companions in the servants hall dispersed.

"Second week of April, Mrs Hughes," he reminded her softly as she reluctantly began the slow climb to her room in the attics.

She didn't turn back to reply, but he heard her words, loud and clear, and precious. "It's a date, Mr Carson."

The End


End file.
